


when everything's wrong, you make it right

by phae



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Insecurity, M/M, Movie Night, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 05:45:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1214935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phae/pseuds/phae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint had this whole great Valentine's date planned out, ready to show Phil what a stand-up boyfriend he is, but then it had to go and snow (and snow and snow and snow), and now everything's ruined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when everything's wrong, you make it right

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from _I Need Your Love_ by Calvin Harris feat. Ellie Goulding.
> 
> tumblr prompt from [uofmdragon](http://uofmdragon.tumblr.com/): _C/C Ice and Snow spoil the romantic plans... or do they?_

Clint is not freaking out. Definitely not. Sure, the fancy fucking restaurant he made reservations at a damn _month_ ago is closed due to the snowvalanche. And so what if the buses aren't running (thank you again, Mother Nature) so he can't get into town to pick up the candy bouquet he ordered? No big deal. And okay, yeah, the one suit he’s got to his name, freshly cleaned and pressed at the dry cleaners, just caught a snag on the edge of his closet door that ripped the seam of the sleeve open, but it's not like that matters.

 

_Fuck._ Clint is so screwed. And not in the awesome way that was supposed to be happening later tonight.

 

Who was he trying to kid, though? None of this shit is _him_ , or anything he’s capable of pulling off; he should have known better than to try and make the whole romantic Valentine's date gesture.

 

It's just--it's _Phil_.

 

And Clint knows that Phil's seriously out of his league. He somehow got it into his head that he could do the whole suave boyfriend thing and convince Phil that he's worth dating. But Phil's used to dating classy, put-together people like Pepper Potts. Clint's not going to ever live up to those kinds of expectations.

 

Shrugging out of his suit jacket, he chucks it back in his closet without a care that it's going to end up hopelessly wrinkled again. He drops down onto his bed and lets his head fall forward into his hands, groaning in frustration.

 

Of course, that’s when someone knocks on the door, and that'll be Phil. God dammit. Clint scrubs at his face and stands up begrudgingly. Shuffling over to the doorway, he smooths down his slacks and turns the doorknob.

 

For a second, Clint forgets all about everything that's fallen apart on him over the course of the past day and just takes in the perfection that is Phil Coulson cutting a fine figure in a hand-tailored suit, even as he's shaking snowflakes off of his overcoat. With a smile, Phil steps forward and pulls Clint into a leisurely kiss, and everything is perfect.

 

Except then Phil draws back and asks what the plan is because Clint told him it was all a surprise, gave him a time to show up at Clint's dorm and ordered him to wear a suit, and Clint remembers that everything is awful and he's a horrible boyfriend.

 

Clint's face falls with his thoughts, and Phil pushes him back into the dorm to close the door behind them. "What's wrong?" he asks, and his voice sounds so sincere, his face looks so concerned, that there's a sudden pressure building behind Clint's eyes, but he's not about to damn well _cry._

 

Clint steps back and shoves his hands as deep in his pockets as they'll go. "Hey, so, I promise there was an actual plan and all," he starts to explain. "Like, a real dinner at a place where you don't bus your own table. And I ordered you a present that fit the theme of the day, too. And I was going to look more put together than this." Clint shrugs his shoulders and ducks his head, well aware that he’s babbling more than he’s explaining. "It's just—the snow, you know? It won't fucking  _stop_ , so everything sorta fell through..."

 

Clint steals a glance up through his lashes at Phil, who's just looking at him like he understands and it's all okay, but it's _not_ , 'cause this is Phil, and Phil's awesome, and he definitely deserves more than Clint can ever offer. Clint looks back down at his shoes, the closest things he's got to dress shoes and they're scoffed to all hell. "I'm sorry," he mutters.

 

With a huff and a quick smile, Phil assures him, “No apologies necessary.” He turns to hang his coat on the hook behind the door before opening it again, grabbing Clint's hand, and dragging him out and down the hall to the stairwell.

 

"Uh, Phil?"

 

“Can I ask what the plan _was_?” Phil teases as he leads Clint down to the student lounge.

 

Clint can feel a blush crawling over his cheeks, and he purposefully drops back behind Phil a few steps so he can’t see him. “I made reservations at that Italian place you were raving about.”

 

“Snow kept them closed?” Phil asks, and Clint grunts in reply. Phil walks past the girls huddled around the couches at the flatscreen with bowls of cookie dough in their laps and heads over to the vending machines. “What happened to your suit?”

 

“Got caught on the door and ripped,” Clint admits lowly as Phil takes out his wallet and starts feeding money into the machine, punching in the numbers for various snacks.

 

Phil pauses in his selections to squeeze Clint’s hand sympathetically because he’s some kind of chic metrosexual guy who cares about things like nice clothes. “Think it’s salvageable?”

 

Clint frowns, watching a bag of fruit snacks slip free and fall to the bottom of the machine. “It was just along the seam. Annoying, but it can be fixed, I guess.”

 

“I can take it to my tailor,” Phil offers. “He can probably have it sewn up in no time.”

 

Clint scoffs, and the corner of his mouth twitches up in the makings of a smirk. “Seriously, Phil. What kind of college student has their own personal tailor?”

 

“The kind who likes to make a good impression and wasn’t favored by genetics like _some people_ ,” Phil jibes back.

 

“Don’t even try to pull that card with me.” Clint knocks their shoulders together.  “Yeah, you’re all kinds of handsome in your slick suits, but you’re fucking _gorgeous_ out of ‘em.” Flicking his eyes to the side, Clint catches the tips of Phil’s ears reddening and his smile spreads.

 

Clearing his throat, Phil selects a bag of Fritos and asks, "You going to pick something?" Clint narrows his eyes in thought, reaching forward when Phil puts another dollar in to hit the buttons for a Snickers bar.

 

A mound of snacks gathers at the bottom of the machine as they go back and forth, only avoiding the crackers and the Lays potato chips that are always more crumbs mixed with salt than crispy chips. Phil carefully piles everything in Clint’s arms and then moves on to the drink machines, purchasing Mountain Dews for Clint and Cherry Cokes for himself.

 

Phil herds Clint back up the stairs and to his room and directs him to drop everything on his bed and set up Netflix on his laptop while he puts the extra sodas in his roommate’s mini fridge. “Phil? What are we doing?”

 

“Improvising.” Phil heads over to Clint’s closet, slipping out of his suit jacket and hanging it up. Clint gets distracted from typing in his password when Phil continues stripping until he’s standing there in only his boxer-briefs.

 

“We should improvise more often.”

 

Phil walks over to Clint’s dresser, tossing a knowing smirk back over his shoulder, and pulls out a pair of Clint’s sweatpants to step into. “Date first. Depending on how it goes, maybe you’ll get lucky later.”

 

“I’ll be on my very best behavior, Scout’s honor,” Clint promises, holding up three fingers. Phil looks torn between chuckling at his antics and launching into a lecture about the proper salute, but in the end he just shakes his head and pulls another pair from the drawer to lob at Clint’s face. “Uh?” Clint drawls, holding up the sweats questioningly.

 

“Dress pants aren’t exactly designed for comfortable snuggling,” Phil points out reasonably. He moves over to Clint’s laptop and starts sifting through the queue they’ve been accumulating when they can’t agree on what to watch after classes.

 

“Snuggling?” Clint tries to sound put-out, but he’s a big fan of cuddling even if he’s never going to admit it out loud, and Phil’s no doubt caught on to that by now. Clint’s just not in the habit of keeping his hands to himself once someone gives him permission to touch, is all. “You got me all excited and then turn it around to a chaste first date?”

 

“Snuggling _and zombies_ ,” Phil explains. He stacks Clint’s stray textbooks on the desk to prop up the laptop and tilts the screen to the bed before he climbs up and rearranges Clint’s blankets and pillows into a suitable nest with pockets to hold up their drinks. “If that doesn’t say Valentine’s, then why bother calling it a holiday?”

 

Clint kicks off the scoffed shoes, shucks out of the dress pants that only match a jacket with a hole in the sleeve, struggles out of the button up that actually belongs to his roommate, and pulls on his sweats, the worn fabric soft and familiar against his skin. He clambers up on to the bed and turns so that he’s leaning back against Phil’s chest because chances are good that Phil’ll rest his arms over Clint’s shoulders that way, and it’s like a non-constricting, prolonged hug.

 

Clint wrestles a candy bar from the bottom of their snack pile and hands Phil his fruit snacks, huddling back to drop his head under Phil’s chin. Phil’s arms come up to wrap over his shoulders as expected, and Clint breaks off a piece of chocolate and holds it above his head. Phil leans forward to take it with his teeth, his tongue licking away the smudge of melted chocolate on Clint’s fingers.

 

Phil intermittently feeds him gummies, but only the orange ones since Clint gags theatrically at any others, and the laptop screen flashes with images of blood and gore and dystopian America. The next time Phil offers him a gummy, Clint bites into it and pecks a quick kiss to Phil’s palm. “I love you,” he mutters into the warm skin, breathing in the scent of hand soap and plastic and artificial flavoring.

 

Phil’s arms tighten around Clint’s torso in a proper hug, and he presses a kiss to the ticklish spot behind Clint’s ear. “I love you, too,” he whispers. A girl on screen screams as a zombie catches her and bites off a chunk of her arm, and Clint stuffs the rest of his candy bar in his mouth because his mouth is starting to hurt from smiling so wide.


End file.
